


Perdik

by Domimagetrix



Series: Djinnbound [4]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: A Perfectly Respectable Couple Engages in Mild Food Fight, Age-related joking, Brief reference to dismissal, Cheeky flirting, F/M, General (specifics absent) reference to cannibalism, Plot, Unpleasant parental figure, public embarrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 17:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18015449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domimagetrix/pseuds/Domimagetrix
Summary: A former professor and current Protectorate agent enjoys an afternoon out with his wife.





	Perdik

Perdik dipped a hand into the basket held by his wife, finger-walking through books and checking titles against the list he’d memorized before leaving the house. The library was fairly quiet, only a handful of people milling around, what few who spoke at all doing so infrequently and in hushed tones which sank into the carpet, muted.  
  
He ignored them.  _Collapse of the Divine, Prehistoric Mollusks of the Lesser Continent, Love Intones Beneath the Moonlight_ \- this he slid beneath the others with half a wary glance around himself -  _Guessing the Year and Other Common Mistakes of the Novice Spirits Connoisseur-_  
  
“That’s the fourth time. No, fifth. Stop looking around like that. People are going to think you’re planning to steal one.”  
  
He tore his inspection from the books, insulted. “I’m still a respected figure in literary preservation. Nobody’s going to-”  
  
His wife patted his arm gently. “I’m teasing. We’ll come back if you forget one.”  
  
“Amaceli-”  
  
Her tone was light, but brooked no argument. “No more, Professor Rhann. I’ve spent fifty-six years waiting for the age of elder’s midday meal discount at restaurants, and by the Camarilla I intend to stuff myself silly with seafood while paying a paltry sum less than the youths around me.” She pat-slapped his hand away from the books. “Neither god-kings nor government will get in my way, and one skinny, paranoid professor does not an adequate barrier make.”  
  
Perdik tried to grumble, but humor struck down the effort. He compromised with a huffing sound. “You’re an unrelenting taskmistress.”  
  
“Hush, twig. Or I’ll start gnawing on you for an appetizer.”  
  
He leaned down conspiratorially. “In another setting-”  
  
She swatted at his arm. “See to it I’m fed, and I’ll return the favor for your other appetites, hedonist.”  
  
Perdik inhaled, and was interrupted before he could respond by a hissing voice just outside library-appropriate conversation range.  
  
_“You’re of age. You will conduct yourself like an adult.”_  
  
Both looked in the direction of the voice, and spotted a woman gripping the upper arm of a younger man - son or nephew, given the freedom with which she chastised - and leaning in despite her volume eliminating any need for it. The young man didn’t return her glare, instead offering a mixed look of embarrassment and defiance to the floor in front of them. Other library patrons gave them a wide berth.  
  
_“You’re not a boy anymore. It’s time to start thinking about a family, and no self-respecting person is going to start a family with a man who’s still burying his nose right up to his ears with childish fantasies-”_  
  
Amaceli and Perdik looked from the woman and her unhappy charge to each other, some silent literature-lovers’ agreement passing between them.  
  
He winked. She winked back.  
  
They made their way out of the checkout line toward the woman, slowly, edging themselves nearer the other pair without making their goal apparent. They scanned various signs offering genres in brass paint overtop some cheap, mass-produced board, as though searching for something.  
  
They stopped in front of a table display. Amaceli pointed. “It should be right here, shouldn’t it? That’s what that nice young woman at the front desk told us, didn’t she?”  
  
Perdik nodded. “Young, though. Probably too busy daydreaming to pay attention.” He poured a measure of censure into his voice, a little disdain for this manufactured instance of irresponsibility, hoping he wasn’t overdoing it.  
  
It was enough. The hissing woman turned - all pressed suit and artificially blonde hair frozen in a bland, crisp cut, the beginnings of dark roots showing along her hairline - and took notice.  
  
Happy notice.  
  
She smiled at the elderly couple, who shared effort not to wince at the predatory glee in the woman’s eyes. Her tone grew saccharine. “In fact, you might be better examples.” She tugged on the boy’s arm. “I was just telling my son a bit about respectability. I think he needs a bit more encouragement.”

Perdik excavated a  _harrumph_ from his thin chest. “Quite. Nothing carries quite as much depth as the image one projects.”

The woman paused, eyes flicking between Amaceli and Perdik, seeming to sense something amiss in his wording but at a loss to find it in the lecturer’s stern tone or in either of their faces.

He saw Amaceli beam brightly at the woman and felt a surge of pride. His wife nodded. “Lots of sacrifices to me made if you want to be successful, young man. You won’t be able to take as much joy from things as you used to.”

As they’d spoken, the sullen young man in question had grown from weary to mildly curious. His focus had left the floor and he looked at the two older people his mother had wrangled into his chastisement with puzzled investment.

His mother, too, had grown less self-assured. “That’s not to say that-”

Amaceli gave her no quarter, sighing. “I suppose we do look back on the days when our capacity for happiness was strong, but,” she patted Perdik’s arm and squeezed, smiling placidly up at him, “I daresay it’s a fair exchange. Now we’re perfectly immune from being accused of excess merriment.”

“-But I’m sure that-”

Perdik had caught his wife’s wind in his sails. “Do you know I’ve been called the very  _death_ of an office party?” He stood a bit straighter. “I’d have been quite proud if such a thing didn’t risk a bout of dangerous good cheer.”

His wife fair trilled agreement.  _“Unthinkable,_ really.”

“But with respectability comes satisfaction...” The note in the pressed woman’s voice became plaintive.

Perdik shook his head. “Certainly not. The first sacrifice of one’s penchant for fancy is but a quibbling thing compared to the slaughter to come.”

The woman before them blinked. Her hand slid from her charge’s arm, and the young man himself lost some of his resentful slouch. Instead, he seemed more and more like someone on the cusp of epiphany.

The now aggrieved-looking woman sounded on the verge of begging. “This isn’t helpi-”

“It’s really not so bad, young man.” Amaceli shrugged, quoting a book Perdik recalled from his required reading lists in his last year before university.  _“‘I have known no greater kindness than a flavorless steak.’”_

“Adequately put, obligatory partner of mine.” Perdik offered both parental figure and child a solemn, stiff nod. “It would behoove you to set a moderate, passionless tone for the future, young fellow,” he patted Amaceli’s shoulder, “like myself and my horrible wife.”

Amaceli echoed the nod within Perdik’s peripheral vision, equally solemn.

The woman stared at the two of them, openmouthed, then cleared her throat and looked around herself with something bordering on panic. “Well, seems rude to waste more of your time.” She spared a glance at her son before eyeing the library exit. Her hand jerked in a  _follow-me_ gesture. “Let’s go, Maylan.”

She moved away. The boy turned to follow, then paused, looking back, eyes wide with awe as he took in the pair who’d freed him from his chastising.

Saying nothing and smirking, Perdik reached into the book basket held by his wife and lifted one of the novels, the first of a new dha-jinnu series, just enough to make the title and magic effect-embellished cover art visible.

The boy’s eyes grew wider still. He looked from book to Perdik and back again, then finally settled on the pair of elders.

Perdik and Amaceli both winked at him.

He grinned at them. Looking over his shoulder and reassuring himself his overbearing guardian hadn’t come back to tow him away, he gave them a final happy glance and winked back, hand lifting in a nascent wave.

He turned, speeding away after the pressed woman.

Perdik leaned in toward his wife as he returned the book to the basket. “That quote was from a book about boredom driving an entire village to cannibalism.”

Amaceli leaned and pecked her husband on the cheek. “Of course. And the elders of that village taking to it first, alongside the young ones.” She brightened. “I hope it wasn’t too much for that nice young lady we just spoke to.”

Perdik laughed. “You’re an absolute carnivore, with teeth to match.”

His comment earned him a giggle. “Then let’s go check out these books. I need to put my carnivore’s teeth in some molluscs.” She reached a hand down and patted Perdik’s rear.  _“Reduced-price_ molluscs. Lively steps, Professor Rhann.”

Perdik hopped his first step forward. “Let us to the flavorless steak make haste!”

The pair made their way to checkout, stopping briefly to exchange pleasantries with the desk attendant, then embraced the sunlight beyond the double doors with mutual appreciative sighs.

Amaceli wound her arm through Perdik’s and spoke thoughtfully. “I hope we didn’t make life too difficult for him. His mother didn’t look like someone who takes kindly to being rebuffed.”

Perdik shook his head as they steered toward the restaurant section of the city’s square. “She may nurse wounded pride, but Maylan just got a glimpse of her as a person rather than a godly parental figure. He’s just seen her get handed her business and sent on her way by those older and ostensibly wiser. The balance of power has shifted.”

She half-hugged his arm. “I hope so.”

Brick-and-plum flagstones gave way to light, airy green marble streaked with silver, the former color an echo of the clear sky above. Raised boxes on either side of the walkway sported flowers in full bloom, a few days overdue for pruning, and the minimalist buildings of the business district became open restaurant fronts and wrought-fence terraces with tables and chairs overseen by vividly-patterned sunbrellas. Signs over doorways lost their prefabricated look in favor of hand-carved individuality and hand-painted welcome.

They’d almost reached their destination when a group dressed in dark blue robes approached from the other direction. As one, Perdik and Amaceli moved out of their way, both avoiding direct stares and trying to catch covert glimpses of faces beneath the overhang of hoods. Where breast pockets normally lived, the robes sported crude starburst pattern insignia circumscribed by an oval.

The group passed, and the pair moved toward the seafood cafe.

Amaceli spoke their feelings first. “Those blood spires in the west couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

Perdik glanced at his wife. “You think there’s something to them?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. But we know better than most how quickly people can gravitate toward an idea. I’m not sure it’d matter even if the god-kings themselves appeared.”

They paused long enough to be seated out on the sun deck, in a little corner near the back. The waiter took their orders, poured thin nectar into generous glasses, and retreated.

Amaceli toyed with her straw. “How bad is it at the Protectorate?”

Perdik shrugged, planting forearms on the table and slow-rotating the glass between his hands. “Busy. Greater’s been headbutting with GIN and its damned myth recursive, but I have a feeling all this will amount to some faction of the Underground taking advantage.”

“Staging the whole thing? The Underground? Even the spires?”

He nodded. “I think so, but damned if I know how. The only person who comes to mind with that kind of ability rarely ever leaves his own damned government spire.”

The waiter returned, setting a plate of spicy leaf rolls between them, and made his way back toward the kitchens.

Amaceli trailed his exit with her eyes before going on, picking up one of the leaf rolls and plucking stems off it. “I’m worried.”

Perdik felt weight settle in his chest. He reached over the table and rested his hand on her wrist. “We’ve got civilization, technology, and a Protectorate that spans the globe. Whomever’s behind this nonsense will be flushed out.”

She nodded, then looked past Perdik toward the walkway. She patted his hand and pointed behind him. “Isn’t that Kaid?”

Perdik turned, and searched the moving clusters of people on the main walkway until a black ponytail resting atop a faded sweatshirt caught his eye. The man’s build - wide of shoulder and trim - fit the bill. The pants looked right, too, but he’d rarely seen the agent in anything but dress shoes, and the figure making his way past a little social gathering toward Artisancraft Teas wore well-used running shoes.

The man turned left, offering a moment’s exposure of his face, then moved beyond a row of hanging flower vines and disappeared.

Perdik stretched as though to peer beyond the plants, then gave up, sitting back in his chair. “That was him, all right.” He looked back at Amaceli. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in anything but a suit, though. Wonder what he’s up to?”

Amaceli looked away from the hanging plants and went back to work deconstructing her leaf roll. “Maybe he’s decided to develop a social life.” She looked up at him and smirked. “You’re adorable when your mothering urge kicks in.”

He scoffed. “I’m not his mother.”

She nodded gamely at her leaf roll. “Not at all.” Her tone became conversational. “When did you say his last office party attendance was?”

Perdik thought back. “Three weeks ago. Almost thirty days since…” he grumbled, “I am not his mother.”

“I know, my love. I’m sure your chair’s just uncomfortable.”

He muttered and settled back properly in his seat.

The pair had begun tossing frayed leaf stems at each other when the food arrived, the waiter saying nothing and earning silent accord between the former professor and his wife to tip him generously for his discretion. They spoke eagerly about their books and their garden, modern troubles forgotten, packing away steaming plates of seafood until both felt full to bursting.

The sun had begun sinking below the horizon by the time they paid and departed, their path lit by artificial fire posts which slowly alternated color between red and orange to blue and violet.

Amaceli shifted the bag further up her arm and leaned against Perdik, who wound an arm around her shoulders. “Looks just like a place I walked with a very nice young man from the university a long time ago. Wish I remembered his name.”

Perdik hummed agreement. “Poor fellow. His loss; he’s out there somewhere and you settled for me.”

She elbowed him gently. “‘Settled’ my ass.” She wrapped her arm around his waist and smiled thoughtfully at the flat stones in front of them. “You were criminally cute back then.”

“I was no such a damned thing.”

She chuckled. “A little awkward, but cute. Like that Trast fellow you work with, but without the…” she made an aimless gesture with her free hand.

“Less potted plant-fondling?” Perdik’s face twitched with remembrance.

“A little more reservation.”

“A little more decorum and respect for-”

She elbowed him again. “Not that respectability nonsense again. I’ll pull those books out right here and read the titles aloud.”

“It’s different.  _He’s appalling.”_

“He’s young and vibrant.”

“A  _menace_ is what he is! Just today, I’ll have you know he…”

The two walked toward the residential district, arms around each other, one complaining at great and only partially-exaggerated length, the other prodding the first to peace with equal awareness of the act behind it all. Their shared silhouette faded as they left the lights of commerce behind them.

 

………

 

From an office window high above, a pair of orange eyes watched them, their owner feeling a tiny pang in his otherwise exuberant, cheerful heart. A moment of longing for himself even as he wished the pair well and admired the visible love between them.

He turned away from the window and back to the stack of paperwork on his desk.

_“You’re fun, but maybe not… y’know. Love material.”_

The agent sighed, scooped the papers into semblance of neatness, and stood.

_Maybe. Maybe someday._

**Author's Note:**

> While playing Runescape (read: idly bankstood and stared at chat), a friend popped into the friends' chat I frequent. Without preamble, he said the following string of words:
> 
> "My dad makes a mean flavorless steak."
> 
> I still don't know what the hell it means, but it haunts me. I had to incorporate it or die. It's canon.
> 
> FreshCondoms, you living emblem of magnificence and gentle horror, the beer's on me.


End file.
